“Hey, by the way,” she said. “Where’d you say that aloe was?”
“I’m not sure it’s environmentally—.”
She held up a hand interrupting him. “Don’t care. Just need to get something on this burn.”
Troy couldn’t help but glance down at the girl’s bright red skin drawing out the shape of where a bikini should’ve been. She seemed to follow his eyes and covered herself with one hand.
“Uh hem,” she cleared her throat playfully.
“Oh uh, yeah. Um…see if Meira can find any for you,” he said. “She’ll be down below.
“Keep her from driftin’ too much, Mel,” Troy told the crusty old man at the wheel. “I’ll bring back a ferry for the kids and Meira. Then we’ll work on that tug for your boat.”
“If there’s anything left of her after that squall.” Mel looked out toward the open water.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Troy said, not really sure he believed it.
He plopped his hat on top of Mel’s head and patted it down. The man’s wiry gray hair sprang out like a stainless steel Brillo pad on all sides.
“This thing’s comfy,” he said with a randomly toothed smile. “I need to get me one of these.”
“Uh uh. Don’t make any plans on keepin’ it. I’ll be back for it in a few.”
With that, Troy dove into the water and began the long swim into shore. A distant memory flashed into his mind… something about the war. Something had triggered him last night, but he couldn’t remember what it was…
He shook the thought away and concentrated on making it to the beach.
17
Tastes Like Chicken
Troy and Meira watched as the naked protesters piled into a couple of rental vans the Nags Head PD had rented just for this pickup. They were all to be arrested for disturbing the peace, but rather than being upset, many were happy to be getting this badge of distinction. Now they weren’t just protestors; they were officially rebels. And it would have disturbed Troy except for the fact that they were all so sunburnt and storm-blown that sitting down was at the same time difficult and impossible to avoid. He shook his head as he watched Todd hop onto the van, stand in the doorway and raise a fist high in the air.
“Power to the people!” he cried, but there was no one there to listen except Troy, Meira, and Mel.
Clarice, entering the van behind him, shoved him harshly and slammed the door in his face before getting into the passenger’s seat. She rolled her window down.
“Thanks, Troy.” She waved and smiled as she said it. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime?”
“We’ll see,” Troy said.
She held up a cell phone—presumably the officer’s—and said, “I’ll transfer the money into Mel’s bank account. It should be there in a few minutes.”
“Much obliged,” he said and tipped his hat as they pulled away.
Mel had been let off with a warning, insisting that he’d had no idea what the kids had planned until he’d gotten out in the water. Troy had backed him up, but he suspected the officers knew better.
When the vans drove out of sight, he asked Mel, “What now? Where you goin’?”
“Gotta get me a dang tug to tow that heap o’ junk in and see what gives with the engine.”
“I know a guy down at the pier. He’s probably the cheapest tow you’ll find out here. I’ll give him a ring. Gotta get me a new Jon boat while I’m at it. Storm took mine off.”
Mel, upon seeing Troy’s phone, eyed it and said, “You mind if I borrow that thing?”
Troy shrugged and handed him the phone. Mel squinted his eyes and pecked around on the screen. A few seconds later he grinned and tossed the phone back to Troy.
“Thanks to you, I’m good with whatever he charges.”
Troy smiled. “You need a ride back to town?”
“Nah.” Mel sniffed and scratched his chin. “I think I’ll see if I can find me a cab and grab a beer.”
“Be sure not to overdo it, old-timer.”
“Bah.” Mel waved him off as he started walking down the street.
Troy watched him limp away, naked except for the shorts he’d loaned him. He couldn’t help but wonder how this story would be exaggerated the next time Mel had a captive audience to tell it to.
Troy turned around at the sound of Meira sighing in exasperation studying the screen of her own phone.
“Somethin’ wrong?” he asked.
“Riley’s phone is going straight to voicemail. She wouldn’t turn it off. I think something’s wrong.”
“Ya think maybe the power’s out at home and her phone died? That storm was a doozy. Might’ve had her stuck in the dark.”
“Maybe,” Meira said as she started walking toward the road. “You got your truck here?”
“Yup.” Troy pointed up the road to a white pickup sitting on the shoulder.
“Can I get a ride?”
“Sure thing. I gotta get to work for my shift tonight, but I’ve got a few minutes to take you home.”
They drove in silence to Meira’s place. When he pulled the truck into the driveway, Meira jumped out. Troy opened his door to get out too, but she stopped him.
“You get to work,” she called as she jogged up the steps to the front porch. “I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call you later.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Go on now, I don’t want you to be late.”
“But—” he started to protest.
Meira stuck her head into the door, then leaned back out and called to him. “All good. She’s upstairs. I can hear her radio. Thanks, Troy.”
“Alright then. Maybe I’ll drop by on my way home?”
“Sounds good.”
He watched her disappear into the house and sat studying the house for a few seconds. Everything seemed okay, so he put the truck into gear and eased out of her driveway. Troy picked up his phone and saw it was twenty past five. He was late.
“Dangit.” He found the store’s number.
After a couple of rings, Barry answered. “Hello?”
“Barry, it’s Troy. I’m on my way. Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries,” Barry said. “It’s all good. I’ve started on the big clam order. Take your time.”
The line disconnected and Troy stared at his phone. That’s odd, he thought. Barry’s never sounded so friendly…or relaxed. He shrugged it off and tossed his phone into the passenger’s seat. The trip to the store took half an hour in the slow-moving, post-storm traffic. He stepped through the front door and heard Barry whistling in the back.
He grabbed an apron off the hook as he pushed through the double swinging stainless steel doors into the kitchen.
“My bad, man,” he said as Barry looked up.
He was smiling and slicing into a slab of white meat. The smell was…off. Troy couldn’t help but pinch his nose.
“It’s fine, Troy. Here grab a knife and help me get this cut up,” Barry nodded toward the table.”
“What’s up with the smell?” Troy asked as he leaned over the table to inspect the meat.
Barry tightened his lips. “Power went out for a bit. I had to rescue some of the meat. Don’t worry, I cut away anything that had lost temp.”
Troy eyed the meat suspiciously. “It’s got a strange texture, don’t it?”
Barry shrugged. “Hell, I dunno. But we gotta get this order done asap or we’re both gonna get canned.”
Troy just stared at the table. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was…so, he grabbed a knife.
“Cool,” Barry said. “Gimme a bunch of one inch strips, about three inches long. Got it?”
“Yup,” Troy started in on a piece and pushed the tingling suspicions aside as he worked.
“Then we gotta get some spices on this shit and make sure they don’t taste what we smell, capiche?”
“Sure, got it.”
Meira jogged up the stairs two at a time calling out her
daughter’s name. She could hear the sound of music coming from Riley’s room and assumed she was probably sitting at her desk, working on homework. The music was loud so obviously Riley couldn’t hear her calling—no big deal—but Meira couldn’t remember her daughter ever enjoying the radio before.
“Sweetie, I’m home,” she shouted over the Beastie Boys as she came to Riley’s door.
It was pulled closed, but not quite all the way. A sign on the door posted the warning: KNOCK PLEASE. Another proudly displayed several magazine cutouts of some cute boy from the latest boy band sensation surrounded by a few red, glittery hearts.
Meira knocked again and opened the door.
“Riley, I—” she paused, finding the room empty.
She walked over to the radio on the bedside table. It was blaring. The settings showed the alarm that usually woke Riley up for school had gone off and hadn’t been silenced.
The bed was made with the quilt laid over the top of two pillows. Meira knew instantly what was happening here. Her daughter, the good little girl, had made a fake body under the covers to fool her mom. But if that was the case, where had her daughter gone? And how long had she been away?
“Shit.” Meira suddenly realized that she had peeked in on Riley last night and had thought she was still in bed.
She jogged out into the hall yelling Riley’s name. No answer came back. She ran from room to room, panic starting to set in.
“Wait, wait,” she told herself out loud. “Duffy saw her at school.”
She glanced at her watch. School was likely out by now, but Riley wouldn’t have had time to make it home yet. School, Meira thought, gotta get to the school.
She ran out to the truck, jumped in and backed out of the driveway so fast, gravel spewed out from under her tires. A loud horn blast behind her warned her that she’d almost plowed into the post office truck bring her mail.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbled raising her hand out the side window in an apology and mouthing the word, “Sorry.”
The man in the truck waved back, but shook his head in disgust as he jerked open her mailbox, shoved in a handful of envelopes, and then slammed it shut. He pulled forward to the next house and Meira squealed out again. No time to worry about appearances, she thought.
Traffic was heavy in the early afternoon with school buses and carpools flooding the streets to and from the plethora of schools in the Outer Banks. Meira banged her hand on the steering wheel of the truck as she inched forward.
Unbelievably, she was stuck behind an ice cream truck shaped like a circus tent going ten miles an hour. The driver was an ancient black man with a patent leather brimmed cap and a bizarre patch over one eye. He was trolling all the kids around and was going slow enough to give them time to pitch the appropriate fit until their parents gave in.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Meira said and honked her horn, but it had no effect.
The ice cream truck inched along and finally pulled onto the shoulder of the road, a sufficient crowd of children waving money collected there.
She jerked the wheel, surged around him, and sped toward the school. The parking lot was half empty when she got there and she swung the truck into an empty staff spot near the front entrance. She caught the door as a couple of boys walked out and nearly knocked them down as she ran into the building. To her right was the counter that separated the public from the front office. A dark-haired receptionist—Meira had met her before, but couldn’t for the life of her remember what the girl’s name was—was smiling and waving to kids as they left.
“Riley Carr,” Meira demanded putting both hands on the counter. “Where is she?”
The woman scrunched her nose in apparent confusion. “She is probably on her way home, no?”
“I’m her mother.” Meira moved back from the counter and started walking down the hallway. “She’s not at home. I need to know what classroom she’s in.”
“Eez probably Mr. Grantham’s classroom. She has him for first period and homeroom…down the hall, turn left and he’s the second room on the right. But he’s already outside, he eez on bus duty.”
“I know where his class is, thank you very much. Bus duty? What’s that mean?” Meira peered out the front doors of the school.
She had come in that way, but the buses had already left the parking lot.
“He makes sure the kids get on safely and there is no horseplay when the buses are pulling out.”
Meira was only half listening as she jogged back through the glass doors.
“Grantham!” she yelled and startled a few kids sitting around waiting on rides. “Mr. Grantham, are you out here?”
For a moment, no one said anything and she didn’t see Riley’s teacher anywhere. And then he popped his head up from an old green Volkswagen.
“I’m Mr. Grantham,” he said cautiously. “What can I do for you… umm…?”
“Meira. Meira Carr,” she said walking toward him. “I’m Riley’s mother. Can you please tell me where my daughter is? When did she leave? Did you see her get on the bus? Did she get in a car with someone?”
“Whoa, whoa,” he held up his hands. “I didn’t see her at all. I didn’t see her this morning and she wasn’t in homeroom after school either. She didn’t come to school today.”
Meira’s world froze. Everything around her seemed to stop moving and the world went dark.
“Oh no! Hell no!” Troy spat the words out with the cooked meat. “That definitely ain’t it. That tastes like horsemeat with cream dumped all over it.
“Freakin’ shit,” Barry slammed the ladle back into the pot of stew in front of him. “I dunno what else to try, and frankly, I don’t give a shit either. Let’s just pack this stuff up and send it out.”
“Dude,” Troy said. “We cannot send that stuff out. It’s just bad meat. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
Barry shook his head. “I do not know what the hell you just said, but we are definitely sending this shit out.”
“Nope, it don’t taste right at all. You messed up the recipe or somethin’.”
“Well, here Martha Stewart,” Barry tossed the ladle to Troy. “if you think you can do better, have at it.”
“Just get out the way junior and watch a pro at work,” Troy said walking toward the pot. “Get me some horseradish…lot’s of it.”
“Horseradish?” Barry huffed. “What the hell’s that for?”
“To cover up the awful taste you’ve created in this pot. Currently, it tastes like a pot of mashed buttholes.”
Barry snorted and walked to the cooler. “Whatever.”
He pulled out a large bottle of the off-white relish and tossed it to Troy. He opened the lid, sniffed it to make sure it hadn’t spoiled, and dumped the entire contents into the pot.
“Damn, dude,” Barry laughed. “You ain’t messin’ around.”
Troy stirred it in and leaned over the stew. He took a long sniff.
“There we go. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” He inhaled deeply and looked at Barry. “Hot sauce. Get me all the hot sauce we got.”
“What the—” Barry started, but Troy interrupted him.
“Just get it. I ain’t playin’ no more.”
Meira was back on the road moving a little faster now that school traffic was starting to clear. She scrolled through her phone and called Riley again. Nothing. Straight to voicemail.
“Dammit.” She cursed and tapped again.
The message played again and she spoke trying not to sound frantic. “Riley, this is your mother. Call me right now.”
She hung up and scrolled over to call Troy. His phone rang, but he didn’t answer. She tossed her phone into the passenger’s seat and sped up.
“Doesn’t anybody answer their damn phones anymore?” she huffed.
She wracked her brain trying to figure out where in the world her daughter might have gone. She didn’t have many friends that she would visit or go home with. She wasn’t the type to hang ou
t at the library. Hell all she did was play that stupid game—.
Her thought came to a halt. The game shop. What the hell is the name of that game shop? She grabbed her phone and searched until she recognized a name. Leviathan, a small gaming shop with video games, board games, models, collectibles, comic books…all that nerdy stuff. She punched the arrow that would start the navigation program and headed toward the store.
A few minutes later, she pulled into the strip shopping center. The stores were predictable enough—tanning, mattresses, pizza, coffee, and on the end, the game shop. She pulled into the handicapped space in front and ran inside.
There were a couple of tables inside where several teenaged boys with unfortunate acne problems sat hunched over books and game boards with all manner of dice and figurines scattered around them.
“Riley Carr?” Meira demanded. “Anyone in here know Riley Carr?”
Nobody moved. In fact, no one even glanced at her. Meira looked around in shock.
“Really? Nobody? I’ve spent so much damn money in this place and—”
She stopped mid-sentence. Next to the register there was a rack of various gift cards in ascending denominations. She reached up to the top of the tower.
“One hundred dollar gift card to the person who can tell me anything they know about my daughter.”
One of the boys near the door raised his hand.
“What is it doofus?” she demanded.
“Um, I think Riley was in here, like, yesterday or something. She was sitting with a boy.”
“A boy. Okay, that’s fantastic. Can you be more vague?”
The kid’s mouth opened in apparent confusion, but he didn’t say anything else.
The other guy at the table didn’t look up. “Yeah, she was in here with Red Orc.”
“Red Orc? What the hell does that mean?”
The kid looked up and sniffed in disdain. “That’s his username. He’s a gamer. Don’t know his real name though.”
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 102